


The Buck Stops Here

by viktoire



Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: Episode: It's Just Like Riding A Bike, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 16:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17206685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viktoire/pseuds/viktoire
Summary: But the first time he’d pulled Murphy into bed, he should’ve known she’d be more than he bargained for. So much more than the months of wondering had led him to dream about.





	The Buck Stops Here

Excitement in life is always born from the waiting, the suspense. Or at least that’s what Peter must’ve heard somewhere down the road, as it’s become one of the few life philosophies he considers to be truth. He’s come to learn that reality hardly ever lives up to expectation and because of this, he’s also learned that in most situations, it's better to expect very little.

But the first time he’d pulled Murphy into bed, he should’ve known she’d be more than he bargained for. So much more than the months of wondering had led him to dream about. He’d excelled (at least he thought) in the art of subtle indifference for so long now — pretending he didn’t notice her gaze from across the bullpen, ignoring the spike in his libido when he recognized her perfume and knew she was nearby. Every unspoken moment between them had left so much unsaid and yet so much understood, but only now did he understand that it had all been leading to this moment.

She'd laughed again. Finally. Just let loose a little and allowed herself to regain the playful, goofy side of herself that he’d reveled in flirting with for months. Such a relief to see that awkward tension chipped away, even if it was only long enough for him to pull her back into bed and get her out of those damn leggings.

Now, they sit up, never breaking the kiss, and she settles into his lap. His hands tremble like a clumsy teenager fumbling with a bra for the first time.

Shit, she makes him nervous.

“Peter?” A hesitant whisper.

He looks up, half-expecting her to change her mind and pull away again. Is she as nervous as he is? A part of him hopes, prays even, that she doesn’t expect him to pull away. But when their eyes meet and a soft, relieved smile crosses her face, his heart beats a little faster. Does she even realize just how under her spell he really is? Any hesitation is gone as he pulls her closer, clutching her to him and just breathing her in. He chuckles when he pulls off her t-shirt, revealing a silk camisole underneath.

“Any more layers I should know about?” He quirks an eyebrow at her and earns a light swat on the shoulder in return.

She grins. “Find out for yourself.”

It doesn’t take much. He can already see her nipples poking through the thin fabric and he relishes in watching her reaction as he lightly grazes his fingertips over her, squeezing and teasing until she reaches between them to pull the straps down. He really should stop and thank his lucky stars that she's allowing him to see her like this but he's showing his appreciation in other ways. Ways that make her eyes flutter just slightly as he takes a nipple in his mouth, the light tug of his teeth spurning her hips into motion as she grinds in an exquisitely slow rhythm against him. Even through the barrier of satin against cotton, he can feel how wet she is.

“God, Murphy,” he manages, a low groan overtaking his words.

She just smiles down at him, picking up her rhythm and wrapping an arm around his neck to steady herself. The logical part of his brain knows he should flip them and get her underneath him, but how is he supposed to move, much less think logically, when she’s doing this? It takes all of his restraint just to keep his hands from endlessly roaming, commanding one to rest above her ass and the other between her shoulder blades. His lips linger in the valley between her breasts and he can’t help but smile at the feel of her heart hammering against her chest. Completely entranced, getting agonizingly harder by the second, staring in awe as her movements become reckless — he’s a goner.

“Shit, Peter—“ she tries to warn, crying out as she slows her movements and curls her body against his.

Did she just…?

Her eyes grow wide and she covers her mouth, half-embarrassed and half-laughing as she manages a breathless apology. Is she crazy? The hottest thing he’s ever witnessed in his life and she’s _sorry_ for it? But he feigns offense, lightly pushing her off and pretending to pull away.

“You don’t even need me around, huh?”

“Don’t you dare,” she grabs at his arm, laughing and pulling him back in for another kiss. He’s beginning to think he could do nothing but kiss her for hours on end and be content.

He reaches down to untangle the camisole from around her waist but she distracts him, dragging her nails down his torso and sneaking into the waistband of his boxers. When her delicate fingers wrap around his length, he just about loses his mind.

“You alright there, Petey?” Husky and teasing, her voice sends a surge of heat to his stomach and suddenly his ability to form words is tossed out the damn window.

The only response he can manage is a ragged breath and an involuntarily push against her hand, so he really can’t blame her for the laugh she stifles back. But he wipes that smug look off her face the best way he knows how.

Heaven, he’s realized in this moment, must be the sensation of her tongue sliding against his and the feel of her thumb grazing the tip of his cock. If she doesn’t stop soon, he really can’t be held responsible for the mess, can he? But he gathers every ounce of strength he has left and stops her, reaching again for the long-abandoned camisole around her waist.

The last stubborn, subtle thread of insecurity hangs on as she protectively moves one arm to cover her stomach and points behind him. “Turn off the lamp.”

“Murphy,” his voice is gentle and reassuring as his hands cover hers and place them softly at her side, gazing into her eyes, “do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you like this?”

“Peter—” she tries to protest but he cuts in.

“I want you so much.”

Does she have _any_ idea? After months of teasing and flirting and fantasies, she’s here, _actually_ here in his arms; he’s not about to let her insecurities run wild again. Still, to ease her mind, he clicks off the lamp switch and sends the room back into darkness. But he also moves across her, leaving the warmth of her body and bed to raise the blinds. Moonlight floods in to reveal her staring up at him, more cautious and timid than he’s ever seen her before.

“Better?”

Hesitant, she nods.

When Peter’s lips meet hers again in a slow kiss, he’s intent on just exploring and tasting her, trying desperately to convey that there’s nowhere he would rather be than in this bed with her. The camisole is eventually lost as his hands roam, not pawing or demanding, but simply unable to touch enough of her at once. He stops for a moment as she lays back just to take in the sight of her, her hair already splayed and unruly, her eyes so trusting and shining even in the dimness. It’s only when his hand skims across her stomach that he notices, for the first time, the stretch marks she’s been so determined to hide from him.

He can admit that he was initially attracted to Murphy for the same superficial reasons everyone else would be: the striking eyes, the blonde mane, the endless legs, all wrapped up in a package of sophisticated confidence that would intimidate most men into an immediate retreat — and he, too, had been tempted. He’d then set out to prove he wasn’t like those other men. Peter Hunt? Scared of a woman? Hell, he hadn’t even wanted to admit he noticed anything beyond objective attraction, much less the nervousness she’d stirred in him. But he’d watched her work, brilliantly and fearlessly, and he’d found himself wanting more and more. Seeing her defend her friends and snark back at his petty jokes, even just catching her eyes for a moment too long over lunch...every new moment had peeled away a different layer.

This moment, here and now, marks another layer completely gone.

She’s wanting and vulnerable underneath him, a glimpse into the sensual side of her that he’s only fantasized about. And yet these little lines under his touch remind him that along with everything else, this powerhouse of a woman has brought life into the world.

Had she really thought that would make him turn away?

She reaches down on instinct to stop him from lingering too long on her stomach but he doesn’t budge, instead letting his fingertips follow the tiny ridges that cascade in scattered paths down her torso. He reaches for her hesitant fingers, lacing them in his as he bends to press warm, reverent kisses against her skin for a long moment. It's only when her other hand runs through his hair, nudging gently as her hips shift against him, that he continues on the path to crawl between her legs. All at once, he secures his arms around her thighs and pulls her body closer, inching open mouthed kisses across her inner thighs as he looks up at her for permission.

The pleading look in her eyes is more than enough.

The sound she desperately tries to hold in when his mouth finally reaches its destination is worth the wait. Slipping his tongue inside of her warmth in a slow, steady rhythm, he allows himself to taste her. He barely even registers the pain of her fingers clutching in his hair, so overcome by how good she smells and how damn wet she is as she starts to grind against his mouth. A glorious way to go, he thinks, to just drown right here and die a happy man.

He’s never leaving this spot. Judging from her whimpers, she doesn’t want him to either. Head thrown back with a satisfied smile on her face, she looks sexier in this moment than she’s ever looked in his fantasies (and she’s been sexy as all hell in those.) She lets out a sharp gasp when his tongue laps against her clit and she hastily reaches for his hand, bringing it to her breast to encourage him. He rolls the nipple between his fingers until her body is writhing even quicker against him.

“Peter-” Another gasp.

“Hmm?” He teases, seamlessly replacing his tongue with two thick fingers and gazing up at her with a wicked smile. Her thighs are slick and trembling and he can tell she’s not going to hold out much longer if he keeps this up. Really, he should put an end to her misery but it’s too much fun egging her on, whispering low commands in her ear that coax her closer and closer to the edge as she cries out. His knuckles nearly vibrate against her and it’s not a moment before she finally crashes over, gazing helplessly up at him until she can’t help but shut her eyes at the sensation.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, moreso thinking the thought aloud as he patiently waits for her to regain her senses. Little tremors seize her body as he slows his movements, lazily pressing against her.

She sighs happily, still reeling. “I bet that’s what you tell all the girls when you’re driving them out of their minds.”

His only response is to dive into the crook of her neck, mercilessly teasing the spot that he’s already learned makes her tense up in giggles. He’d figured tonight would have been a quick, fun romp, the mere release of months’ worth of tension — to be fair, he’d convinced himself she wouldn’t have allowed him anything more than that. But he’s in no rush now, taking a long moment to look into her eyes, peppering light kisses across her face just to make up for the weeks he’s spent convincing himself he hasn’t wanted to.

Certainly, Peter’s reputation could tell a thousand tales if it wanted (most of them greatly exaggerated) but whatever this thing is with her, it isn’t another notch in his bedpost and he knows it. He only hopes she does too.

Still, he can’t help but tease when she wraps a leg around his, grinding her hips against his prodding erection.

“A little eager, are we?”

“You don’t have any room to talk, Hunt,” another slow grind that forces him to hold back a groan, “what’s this?”

He shakes his head, feigning disappointment. “Been that long, huh?”

“Jesus,” she mutters to herself, rolling her eyes, “you let a guy into your bed and this is how he treats you.”

He wants to taunt back that, really, he hasn’t begun to treat her yet. Hasn’t done even half of the things he wants to do to her. But the thought is completely lost when her hand slips between them to finally guide him into her body. Gently, he eases inside.

“You okay?” He murmurs, wanting to make sure.

She nods, but her fingers grip tightly onto his arms and he waits another moment before moving again. His head is swimming and adjusting to the feeling of her body clenching around him, and whatever thoughts he has are leaving his mind just as fast as he thinks them. Why is this so overwhelming? He wants to let her know how he’s feeling and say something, _anything_ , coherent to her.

Fuck, talk about driving someone out of their mind.

But he finds a home in her gaze that he never expected, his eyes never leaving hers. Almost immediately they find a rhythm as they glide against each other’s bodies, gasping in turn until mindless abandon takes over. The delicious little sound she makes when he purposely slows his pace almost makes him come right then and there, but he pins her arms above her head and waits until she’s peaking with him, following right behind as she loses herself.

A brief silence envelops them as they come back down to Earth, broken only by an eruption of contagious, breathless giggles that he can’t help but join in. His pride skyrockets as she beams up at him, brushing her fingers against his cheek. The familiar tug on his heart gives him pause, but he doesn’t ignore the feeling this time. Instead, he basks in it and finds himself sheepishly wondering if her heart feels the same.

But there’s no time for introspection once she crawls on top of him, and it’s another two hours before they finally give in to exhaustion.  
  


-  -  -  -   -  
  


For once, it hadn’t been the blare of the alarm clock or the sudden weight of a toddler crawling into her bed. It wasn’t even one of the recurring nightmares that she thought she’d finally banished from the recesses of her mind. Nothing had forced Murphy awake and yet here she was, just barely six a.m. and slowly blinking to life.

For the first time in a long time, she’d slept through the night — and slept so hard that she had to search her mind for where she was, what day it was, what the warmth around her body was…

Peter.

She’d only just stretched an arm over the side of the bed when he'd sighed in his sleep, tightening his arm around her waist and pulling her back against him.

Now, the faintest hint of early morning marks the windows and casts the room in a dim blue. This is usually right about the time she hears the telltale rummaging around of Avery as he stumbles in, eyes half-open with his plush Barney in hand, wanting to cuddle up under the blankets. But the room across the hall is thankfully silent and she takes advantage of it, rolling over and burrowing her face into the crook of Peter’s neck.

God, he still smells so good.

“Anyone ever told you you’ve got a cold nose?” His chest rumbles against her hand as he speaks, groggy and low.

“I’m sorry to offend you, Mr. Morning Breath.”

He says nothing, but even in the half-darkness she can see that familiar mischievous look in his eye. The one she knows from weeks of teasing that she can't stop until it's too late. She nearly squeals out loud when he unleashes a relentless assault of tickles on her stomach, her only saving grace in this moment the ability to distract him with her lips against his. Slow but determined, his hand nears further and further until it’s between her legs.

“Not so cold now, huh?”

He shakes his head, his voice humming against her mouth, “Just warm...and so soft...”

Where does he get off having magic in his hands? For long minutes, his fingers knead and flutter and dip deep into her folds until she’s almost panting with want. They’re working on two hours’ sleep, the sun’s not even up yet, and she’s already ready to climb on top of him, aching muscles and all.

“Peter,“ a half-moan interrupts as her hips jut up towards him, “Avery might—“

All sense is gone as his fingers move faster, knowing she has a point and rushing to get her there. The friction between the roughness of his palm against her clit sends her over the edge, writhing and riding the wave against his hand.

“Okay. You’re not allowed to leave this bed again,” she huffs out.

He grins and places a soft kiss on her forehead. “Go check on him.”

Sure enough, the tiptoed trek to his bedroom reveals Avery is out like a light, his face hidden under a mess of red hair. She smiles to herself and allows the cheesy maternal reflection of just how quickly he’s growing. It really does feel like yesterday when he was small enough to fit in her arms. Now, he nearly always wriggles right out of them, excited to clumsily run around and explore his independence. 

God help her for thinking it, but how will he react if Peter sticks around?

Shaking the thought as she returns to the bedroom, she stops in the doorway to take in the sight of the sprawling Adonis on her bed. She’d felt more cherished and treasured in his arms last night than she’d felt in years — alright, maybe even more than she’d _ever_ felt, if she has the guts to admit that to herself. He’d eased her out of those nagging insecurities, made her feel desirable again, actually prioritized her pleasure…

_Come on, Murphy, you’re not an idiot. There’s gotta be a catch._

“Are you just gonna stare like a creep or are you coming back to bed?” Peter mumbles as he pats the empty space beside him, jolting her out of her introspection.

She’ll work on figuring out what the catch is tomorrow.


End file.
